


Murky Ponds

by Elivra



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Conflict, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 23:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6728023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elivra/pseuds/Elivra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all know Amy and Rory came devastatingly close to breaking up forever... but what set them down this dark path to begin with? Amy and Rory's troubled days, according to me. Reposted from ff.net for a wider audience :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

“So. The Ood’s gone.”

I shot a glance at him. “Missing him already?”

He shrugged. “He was handy.”

“True,” I sighed and leaned onto him, placing my head comfortably on his shoulder, my favourite position. That was one of the many things I loved about Rory, how perfect his height was for me. I generally come under the category of tall girl(unless I’m on Tamexon 5 –there I’m a hormonally-challenged pygmy), and a lot of guys I know are shorter than me. An equal number are taller, but they are often freakishly tall, with totally disproportionate torso and lower body lengths(these guys would fit right in on Tamexon 5). But Rory… Rory’s height was perfect –neither too tall, nor too short. Rory was beautiful. It was like he was made for me.

He shrugged again and my head jumped with the movement. “Oh well. There isn’t that much to do anyway. It’s just the two of us.”

It was nothing we both hadn’t said before. But this time, there was something different about the way he said it. Or something in the way his words echoed in our lounge. There was _something_ different. Or maybe it was just me.

“Yeah,” I agreed, casually, but an inexplicable lump was forming in my throat. “Just the two of us.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Amy! Rory! Over here!”

Both of us turned around to see a large blonde woman waving at us from the other side of the road. I frowned and squinted. Did I know her?

She was frowning, too. “She look familiar?”

I squinted even more, even as I waved vaguely. “Uh… maybe?”

A fake grin plastered on her face, Amy muttered, “Here she comes,” as the large blonde woman did indeed advance, exclaiming, “Oh my _gosh_ it must be years since I met you two –and I heard about the wedding!” She was fully upon us now and snatched both our left hands in each of hers and scrutinised the gold bands on our ring fingers.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t come, but I had Arnold coming out of me any second and, well, Letitia’s coming in a month!” She laughed, which rather sounded like neighing, and patted her protruded belly.

I grappled with the new names of Arnold and Letitia while I wondered where I’d heard that laugh before.

Amy seemed to have remembered, though. Her smile was even more fixed as she waved away the apology, and assured the woman that she and Rory would visit her little place at Chiswick when ‘Letitia had popped out’(which crude phrase made the woman even more familiar, but I still couldn’t quite remember).

The woman turned and walked away and Amy’s smile broke immediately. “That was Charlotte,” she muttered, massaging her cheeks. “You remember Charlotte Sturgis?”

 _“That_ was Charlotte Sturgis?” The image of Charlotte in my mind was of a reed-thin, jet-black-haired girl with an eyebrow piercing and hollowed, stoned eyes. I simply couldn’t equate that image with the insanely chatty, pink and plump young woman who had just accosted us in the street.

Amy snorted. “Yeah. Blimey.”

I blinked and shook my head as we made our way down the street. “Blimey doesn’t even cover it. I mean –Charlotte Sturgis!”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t think that someone with all those piercings and all that… nihilism would become _that_.”

I snorted too. “Nihilism my foot. You remember how she tried to convince us all that it was a bad idea to progenate in a world so obviously held up by-”

“-‘held up by fake struts of foolishly optimistic and hypocritical societal values which hid the true abjectness of all reality locked in a downward spiral of utter and complete destruction’? A bit, yeah.” She grinned. “Fairly rammed that mulch down our throats.”

I grinned back, Charlotte had been extremely bent on propagating her views to anyone and everyone possible. “Talk about hypocrites –she’s going to have two progeny in a month!”

It was supposed to be funny. It _was_ funny. She _was_ smiling, quite normally too. But the way she said her “Yeah”, a little softly, a little coldly –and was that a crack in her voice? –was not normal at all.

We didn’t speak for the rest of the walk home.


	3. Chapter 3

I held my fingers poised over the keyboard, willing for them to magically develop thoughts of their own and type _something_ because my brain, curse it, had nothing to contribute.

The front door slammed; I looked up over the top of my screen and smiled at the love of my life.

“Hi,” he said, sounding not a little exhausted.

I jumped off my chair, glad for the interruption. “Honey, you’re home,” I said, paraphrasing his usual greeting, pulling him into a quick embrace and a kiss. He barely returned the kiss and sank onto the couch, but pulled me onto it with him which told me he wasn’t displeased or angry with me(which was rare enough), but just plain tired.

“God, I’m knackered,” he mumbled, rubbing his face. “If this is part-timing, I’d hate to know what full-time involves.”

“You won’t know it ‘till you try it,” I grinned.

“I could, yeah, but…” We both glanced at our cordless phone on the table three feet away.

“There’s _him_ ,” I nodded.

“You heard from him again?”

“Nope.”

Rory stretched. “He’s taking his time, this time.”

“He is,” I agreed, thoughtful. “Although, knowing him, barely any time has passed since he saw us last. We both know how often that tends to happen.”

He grinned. “If he’s making us wait twelve years this time, he’d better tell us. I’ll take up nursing full-time, then. We do need to sustain ourselves.” He wrapped his arm around me and stroked my hair absently. “Speaking of sustenance, what’s for dinner?”

I bit my lip and focused my gaze on his shoelaces. “Nothing. Wasted all day trying to write.”

He kissed my forehead in acceptance of my unspoken apology. “And?”

“Oh, it’s almost done. Just needs a few black words to contrast the blank whiteness of the sheet. Then it’s a masterpiece.”

He chuckled. “You’ll get there, don’t worry. You write brilliantly, Amy.”

“I know, thanks,” I said coolly before kissing him in appreciation of his compliment. “But there are times when I don’t –I can’t write at all, and I’m going nuts wondering what to do.”

“You’ll figure it out,” he murmured, soothingly, I’m sure. But something about the way he said it irritated me. Figure it out –figure _what_ out? How?

As a matter of fact, I _had_ figured it out. But it hadn’t been easy, certainly not as easy as Rory’s vague placations seemed to put it.

“I’ve –kind of figured it out, actually,” I said slowly.

Rory only seemed slightly interested, which suddenly made me more irritated. “Oh?”

I took a deep breath. “I had a call from Vanessa in the morning,” I said, in a forcefully casual voice.

 _That_ caught his attention. He sat up. “What about?”

I shot him a look. “What do you think?”

Vanessa was my agent, and she never called to just chat. She’d admitted as much the first time I’d met her.

“Are you going back into _that_ , then?”

I shrugged. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I wanted back in in the modelling business. I had a strong feeling, though, that writing wouldn’t last for long in my life, and modelling would come to stay.

“This job’s perfect for me, she says.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What’s it for?” Oh, for Pete’s sake. Him and his –his little Victorian mind!

“Watches.”

“When?”

“Thursday, ten a.m.”

He simply nodded. “I’ll ask for the night shift.” Before I could respond to that, he got up and made his way to the stairs. “I can barely keep my eyes open,” he fake-yawned. “I’m off to bed. Night-night.”

And left me alone in the lounge, seething.


	4. Chapter 4

I wished the Doctor were here. There were times when this was an absolutely normal thing to wish for. An example would be when you were being chased by a horde of crazy Andregomian mer-women, who were known to tear a virile, male human to bits in their lustful frenzy. Or when the dictatorial half-alien chief of an Amazonian war-tribe was going to sacrifice you to the swamp gods. Or when you were abandoned in a desert town moments away from the strike of a nuclear bomb. Or when the Tardis was suddenly all wonky and toothpaste was coming out of the shower-heads.

But wishing he were here, on a normal day on Earth, at a normal, respectable, and consequently boring time period, was extremely uncommon. And _me_ wishing for his presence was even more so.

And then there was the _reason_ why wanted him here. I doubt anyone in the history of the universe ever wanted him around for this reason.

I wished the Doctor were here, because I wanted some _sanity_ in my life.

“All right, Amy, love, that’s _gorgeous_! Now make like a Greek statue and freeze.”

It was supposed to be just one job. They’d said watches, so I’d cooked for two days, made sure she didn’t nick her hands and arms in any way so as to keep them blemish-free, and let her get a mind-bogglingly expensive manicure. When I say ‘let her’, I don’t mean actually _let_ her. I mean, this was Amy Pond. No one told her what to do. I was given this distinct privilege at times because of a promise she had taken from me before we’d even gotten married –a promise to hold her back, to stop her from spending extravagantly for absolutely unnecessary reasons, as she often did.

But there was no stopping her now. The watch ad somehow involved a wedding dress, a water hose and sunflowers, which didn’t really make sense to me because it looked like the ad was for the dress, in the end. Oh, it was beautiful, no doubt, and she looked amazing, but I didn’t need a misleading, airbrushed magazine-ad to tell me my wife was amazing.

“And break! _Brilliant_ , Amy!”

They were done. Were they done? Please tell me they were done. I couldn’t take any of this much longer.

“Hey, you,” Amy bounded over to me, her frilly frock bouncing around her rather hideously. She pecked me lightly on my mouth, careful not to smudge the weird lip paint on her lips.

“Hey,” I muttered. “Are you done yet?”

“Another half-hour, I think. They want to try a different parasol this time.”

“Right.”

She observed my expression carefully. “Bored?”

I was already in a pretty bad mood. “A bit, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, pouting, and not looking sorry at all. “But look, Andy got us tickets to the Lion King, how cool is that?”

“Us?”

She huffed and waved two tickets at me. “You and me, Rory. Come on.” She assumed her pouting expression again, which only pissed me off more. Why the hell was she pouting at me like _I_ was a camera? “You know you love it. ‘More to see than can ever be seen, more to do than can ever be done’, remember?”

It had been _her_ favourite quote from the movie and consequently mine. It figured, though. It sounded just like something the Doctor would say.

“Why’s Andy being so nice?”

“Why shouldn’t he be?” A bit of the old Amy gleamed in her eyes, _my_ Amy, defending that slimy piece of-

“Fine. Sure. Just wrap up quickly.”

She squealed –this was new Amy –and hugged me and ran off. I watched as she flipped her hair and chattered excitedly to her make-up artist. I found myself suddenly yearning for one of Amy’s slaps.

I sighed and sank back into the uncomfortably soft sofa. I really, _really_ wished the Doctor were here.


	5. Chapter 5

“Oh come on, Amy. Stay! Pleeease!”

Mattie’s whinging was a little annoying, to be honest. But then again, she was my best friend in the whole business, and it was up to me to shut my mouth and bear it. Besides, every other girl I knew around here had an almost similar whingey voice.

“I can’t, Mattie. Rory’s home tonight.”

Mattie pouted. “Ugh. Such a downer. You always dump us, like, all the time.”

“Can’t help it, Matts,” I said fake-cheerfully. “Got the old ball-and-chain holding me back.”

This went on for ten more minutes until I could finally shake Mattie off and she slouched away to find someone else to whine at.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes as I leaned back in the back of the taxi. Today had been especially exhausting. Andy hadn’t been shooting –if he had, it would have been a lot more fun and a lot less tiring –instead, it had been some fancy French guy named Duval. He was incredibly nit-picky, more than any photographer I’d ever worked with. And he had this crazily lecherous stare that fell on me one too many times. I shuddered, then steeled myself. Get a grip, Pond. You can handle it. You didn’t get into the business with your eyes shut.

And I hadn’t, I really hadn’t. I’d already experienced something like it, in various degrees, several times. Having a married model amidst them was a novelty. No, they did have married models, but most of them were wives of rich and powerful men, trophies. Not one of them had begun modelling _after_ they were married. Not one of them was married to a nurse. A temp nurse.

But then again not one of their husbands had waited for them outside a box for two thousand years.

The thought brought a small smile to my face. It didn’t last, though. Things were lately… difficult with Rory. He wasn’t very happy with where I was going with the whole modelling thing, and was very vocal about it, a lot more than I expected from him. It did nothing to improve my mood. He could be overly possessive and ridiculously jealous sometimes, and all the constriction was driving me crazy. I felt smothered and oppressed and lashed out at him more than once.

The taxi stopped at our house. I paid the fare, left the generous change for the driver and turned to our door. The Tardis blue of our door made me smile rather sadly and my heart twisted. Oh, Raggedy Man. Where are you now?

I rang the bell. No answer.

I rang the bell two more times with no luck. Scowling and mumbling curses, I extracted the spare key from a flowerbed and let myself in.

The first thing that gave me a clue on the emptiness of the house was a large dish covered with aluminium foil on our dining table. I uncovered it to find a half-eaten lasagne that looked distinctly unpalatable, which only worsened my mood –and then I saw the Post-It on the fridge.

_At the hospital with Billie and Johnnie. Don’t wait up._

_Rory_

My hands were shaking. The paper fluttered to the floor and I sank onto a chair, but my hands would not stop shaking. I was suddenly angry. So incredibly furious.

I had cancelled for _him_. Knowing that he’d be home, knowing that he hated it when I partied with my work friends. I was being considerate –I was _always_ considerate about his feelings, even with my Scottish temper, always careful not to hurt him, to aggravate his insecurity. And then he goes and does _this_?

I wasn’t going to take this lying down. Nor was I the passive-aggressive kind. My still-shaking hand snatched the phone from the table and dialled his number.

There was one long ring. Then another. And another.

Finally, just as I was about to hang up, a voice answered, “Hello?”

I was struck dumb. It was a woman’s voice.

“Hello? Amy?”

“Who is this?” –I asked, my voice not too friendly.

“It’s Billie from next door. Sorry, Rory was just called out for something.”

Oh, right. “Hey, Billie. How’s Johnnie doing?”

“Better and better, thank God,” Billie sighed. Billie was this rather sweet next-door neighbour whose son was epileptic. Johnnie had just had a particularly vicious fit the previous day and had been in the hospital ever since. The good news only made me angrier. Selfish of me, but there it was. The kid was in no danger, he was fine. So why should my husband rush to his side when I was waiting for him at home?

“And all thanks to Rory,” Billie continued blithely. “I’ve been so caught up the whole day, what with one thing and another, and Dave’s skinned his knee back home, and there’s only so much Peter can do… anyway, Rory’s offered to stay for the night so I can go home, get a little shut-eye. Johnnie’s happy enough about it, but what about you, Amy? I’d hate to keep your husband from you.”

Ugh. I hated conversations that went this way. You just simply couldn’t say no to the person, just because it was the ‘decent’ thing to do. Screw decency, I always said.

“Of course it’s alright, Billie,” I forced myself to say rather cheerfully. “I can manage without him for one night.”

“Thanks so much, Amy!” She sounded so genuinely grateful that I regretted my petulant thoughts moments before. “He really is a godsend. I’m sure one day he’ll make an amazing father.”

The tinny words on the phone seemed to echo in my head. My hands were trembling again and my legs crossed themselves a little tighter as I felt a familiarly hollow, vulnerable pull between them.

“I suppose.” My even voice surprised me.

“You’re really very lucky, you know. Here I am, married to a bumbling idiot –she knows I’m being nice, Pete darling –and here _you_ are, married to Superdad!”

My chuckles sounded horribly empty. “Yeah. I know. Funny. Heh.”

“Oh, here he is –Rory, it’s Amy!” I gripped the phone tighter. Suddenly I didn’t want to talk to him. I just wanted to crawl into a small corner and hide there forever.

“Amy?” His familiar voice nearly made me cry. “Hey there,” I wheezed. “Just called to check on you.”

I heard his huff on the phone. “You don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself, you know.”

His tone riled me up, brought back the previous anger. “I didn’t imply that-”

“Sure you didn’t.”

I bit my tongue to keep an angry retort back but wasn’t entirely successful. “You could’ve told me you weren’t going to be home tonight.”

“Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt you during work. I know how busy you are.” The sarcasm could have cut a tree in half.

“Yeah well, I cancelled on my friends thanks to you. If I’d known I never would have come home!”

“Too bad,” he sneered. “Why don’t you call your precious Andy, I’m sure he won’t mind you joining in this late-”

“Will you stop harping-on-Andy!” –I snapped.

“I will when you will.”

I gave vent to a frustrated yell. “You know what, fine, go and be Nurse Poppins to that precious kid! I can’t take any more of this crap tonight!”

I threw the phone away from me, which luckily landed on our couch and so didn’t shatter into a million pieces. I was breathing hard, my vision was blurred with tears and I felt like pulling my hair out. The anger wasn’t blocking out the despair Billie had induced in me. It was building it up, higher and higher, until all my emotions were feverish and tightly-strung, and my hands just bloody wouldn’t stop shaking.

I shot to my feet. Screw decency, I always said.

I grabbed my purse, my coat and the spare key in my quaking hands and stomped out.

 _I’ll show him big, bad, model-girl. This is only the beginning_.

And it was. Things pretty much spiralled out of control after that.


	6. Chapter 6

I was roused by the gentle creak of the gate. She wasn’t really being gentle –the gate just made very little noise. I heard her heavy footsteps all the way to the door. Then I heard her rattling her key in the lock. Of course it wouldn’t work.

I stood up stiffly, walked over to the door, opened it and let her in. She didn’t even look at me as she stumbled past, making me clench my jaws even tighter. I followed her into the lounge to see her lying sprawled on the couch.

“Whew!” –she said loudly. “I’m knackered! Smashed, I tell you. Bowled over. Stumped. Out. That’s a wicket!” She began to giggle. “Do you realise how much cricket there is in everyday life? I mean, look at the words. Look at the _insects_.” She paused. “Crickets must play smashing cricket,” she said seriously.

I’d seen Amy drunk loads of times before, ever since I first let her sneak some cans of beer into my room one afternoon and then she’d given us away by laughing too loudly. Mels and I had been in big trouble that day… I pushed the errant memory away to the back of my mind. I couldn’t think of Melody –of River, my daughter, at a time like this.

But Amy like this disgusted me. Drunk Amy was fun, a certain party entertainer. Drunk model-Amy was a different kind of fun altogether.

“Let me see them,” I said, dragging a chair in front of her and sitting on it.

She regarded me with innocent eyes. “See what?”

I sighed, checking my temper. “You know what I mean.”

Her expression turned mocking. “You show me yours I’ll show you mine!” She giggled again. Bile rose in my throat. She hadn’t. Had she?

“Show me them, Amy,” I said, as sternly as I could.

Surprisingly, it seemed to work. Pouting, she brushed up the flowing sleeves of her spangled dress and displayed her white arms to me. I held first one wrist then the other firmly as I scrutinised each arm carefully. Nothing. Both smooth and creamy white, without a single blemish, just like they had been before that first job with the watches. God, that seemed ages ago.

“Now your eyes,” I said in the same stern voice, but this time she seemed to snap into attention.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Rory! It was just the one time, I was just trying it! Now, leave me alone!”

“You can’t ‘just try’ stuff like that,” I muttered.

“Yeah, well, if I could handle Erinthean nectar, I can handle this.” She sounded almost sober when she said it and a sudden silence descended between us. We hadn’t discussed the Doctor or the other life we led since quite a while now.

The clock behind me struck three and the spell was broken.

“You can’t keep doing this, Amy,” I said in a low voice, trying very much not to shout.

“As a matter of fact, I can,” she grinned.

It was no different from any other grin she had ever directed at me all these years. But something inside me seemed to snap, like my heart had frozen over and broken in half, and I didn’t know _why_. Maybe it was her glitter make-up. Maybe it was the _smell_ –the smell of smoke and booze and sweat and a melange of perfumes good and bad that seeped through your clothes, a sure sign of having been clubbing. Maybe it was the fact that she was wearing hair-extensions because her photographer had suggested it and had laughed down my suggestion, several months ago, of letting her hair grow out. Maybe it was because she had taken her wedding ring off, and was wearing a large, chunky black rock on her finger that the Doctor had got her from Saturnalia.

One of them was the reason. Or maybe all of them were.

“Stop it!” I stood up so quickly the chair fell backwards with a crash. “That’s enough! I’ve had enough!”

“Yeah, well join the club, mister.” She yawned. “Save the screaming for the morning. I’m going to bed.” She sauntered away, graceful even when inebriated, and slowly climbed up the stairs.

And left me alone in the lounge, seething.


	7. Chapter 7

I woke up with a head-ache _again_. This was happening too many times. I didn’t really like it, but then again, I didn’t really like coming back to a cold home every evening. I went through my usual morning rituals in a haze of throbbing pain.

When I stumbled down the stairs, I found my Lord and Master sitting at the table, scowling over his bowl of cereal. Resisting the urge to slap that sanctimonious look off his face, I got my own bowl.

I sat down opposite him and dunked my spoon into the bowl. Before the first spoonful had even reached my mouth, however, he just _had_ to say something. “Had a nice time last night?”

I let my spoon clatter into the bowl, milk splattering around. “For God’s sake, Rory,” I growled, burying my face in my hands. “I’ve just woken up and my head’s killing me. Don’t start.”

He _didn’t_ start. He let his own spoon drop into the bowl, breakfast half-finished, and stood up abruptly, the chair screeching against the floor. I winced at the screech.

“I won’t be in tonight so have someone wait around to help you open the door when you come back.”

My nostrils flared at his taunt but I managed to ask, “Why won’t you be home tonight? You don’t have a shift.”

“Worried I’ll do some partying of my own? Oh, what’s that, your husband has a life that _doesn’t_ revolve around you? _Shocking_!”

“Just answer the damn question, Rory.”

He shrugged. “ _You_ never do.”

I snorted. “Is that what it is, then? Some kind of childish grudge? ‘I won’t do it because you won’t’?”

He turned to me, his eyes narrowed. “If you really think that, Amy, then you’re stupider than I thought you were.”

Oh no he didn’t.

“ _Stupid_? That’s why you hate me modelling, then? Because it’s for stupid people?” I laughed harshly. “What, it’s not intellectual enough to rise to a _nurse_ ’s standards?”

He grit his teeth. “I don’t really think there’s _any_ intellect involved in a job that requires nothing more than posing for a camera.”

“Oh-ho, you’re dissing the job very easily _now_ , but when it brought in some tidy money on the side you had nothing to say!”

“That’s exactly my point, Amy!” His voice was finally raised and I felt some weird, twisted satisfaction in having made him shout. “It was ‘on the side’, it was always ‘on the side’ before you had to go and make it your career!”

“And why the hell shouldn’t I make it my career?” I yelled back. I had some good strong vocal chords of my own, thank you very much. “Why the hell shouldn’t I do what I want with my career and why can’t you be supportive about it?”

“Because I can’t –I cannot support you in good conscience!” His voice lowered again, but was still trembling with emotion. “This stuff –all this stuff that you’re doing ‘for a career’, Amy, let me tell you, is utter and absolute _bullshit_.”

I scoffed, “And you wonder why I don’t come home in the evening and why I don’t tell you work stories anymore? Why should I even bother when you’ve obviously formed a judgement on me like the sanctimonious arse that you are?”

“Oh, right, right. Try and point you in the right direction and I’m sanctimonious. Try and make you come home to me and I’m a bore, the ole’ ball and chain. Try and warn you and I’m paranoid. Right, it makes _perfect_ sense.”

“Oh please, don’t even get me _started_ on your ridiculous paranoia and your crazy jealous delusions.”

For a second, he looked livid, so dangerously angry that I unconsciously leaned back in my chair. Then the moment passed –he was again stupid Rory with his stupid, jealous, unreasonable, unsupportive face. “Right, so you grinding on the dance floor with Andy was a _delusion_ , of course it was, how silly of me!”

“For the last time, Rory, I was dancing with Mattie and I didn’t notice Andy join us! I was doing nothing wrong!” –I snapped.

“Of course not.” His sarcastic voice seemed to grate in my ears. “You’re perfect, chaste, pure Amy Pond. You do _no_ wrong.”

I shot to my feet and the chair skidded back several feet. “How dare you,” I wheezed, my head throbbing harder than ever, the pain nearly blinding me. “How _dare_ you accuse me of something like that? Is that what you really think I’m doing? Boozing and partying and sleeping around?”

To my horror, he shrugged. He thought –he really thought I’d do that? That, of all things, I’d _cheat_ on him? “It seems to be the M.O. of all your ‘work-friends’,” he muttered, twerking his fingers in air-quotes. I had a sudden urge to snap his fingers in half.

“Yeah, well, it’s not mine!”

“Good to know.” He placed a hand on his chest and looked at me with mock gratitude. For a moment I was speechless. Who was this man? Who was this cold, painfully sarcastic, violently distrustful man? What had he done to my beautiful Rory?

The silence was oppressive and the jangle of the keys he snatched from the table was very loud. “I’m going over to Pete and Billie’s. If you can’t get me on the mobile, call Billie.”

“Why her?” –I blurted. He looked at me, and I knew then that he had misunderstood. “Oh, I’m having a secret affair with her, didn’t you know?” He rolled his eyes and my fingers curled into fists. “Why do you think? I’m babysitting Johnnie.”

Anger made my words lucid again. “We’re not finished here, Rory.”

 He rolled his eyes again in a sort of ‘what _now_ ’ gesture. “Alright, but make it quick.”

“Johnnie can wait.”

“Yeah, but,” he raised both his hands as though weighing something in each of them, “Fun little kid and some Cluedo versus angry, entitled wife… I’m going for Cluedo.”

“So you’d choose some kid over me?” –I was suddenly yelling again, but the words sounded ridiculous even to myself. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to think so. He furiously gestured to all of me as he yelled-

“ _Any_ kid is better than _you_ , Amy!”

A split second of silence passed. His words echoed all around me and within me.

Then something seemed to snap in my brain.

“Out.”

“What?”

“Get out of my house.”

“ _What_?”

I was screeching now. “Get the _fuck_ out of my house, Rory! GET OUT!”

I think what Rory did next really sealed it for me. It was his reaction to that that hardened me against him, that led me through the divorce proceedings almost painlessly.

“Fine.” He didn’t look furious or sad. He just seemed… relieved. Like the words ‘about time’ were unspoken, but implied.

I told him I hated him as he left. He took that in with the same cold acceptance. I meant it, anyway. I knew, for certain, that at that moment I hated him more than I had ever hated anyone in the entire universe, including Madame Kovarian.

And I hated him so much, so very much, simply because I still loved him.


	8. Chapter 8

I was sitting rather aimlessly on my bed, staring at the pitiful contents of my wardrobe, when my mobile rang. I answered the call without checking the caller id. Did it matter anyway?

“Hello.”

“Mr. Williams? It’s Roger Burnett.”

What was _he_ calling me for? Oh God. Don’t tell me he was calling to congratulate me. Like it was something to be congratulated for. Aw, your wife keeps the lovely duplex house that a time-travelling alien bought in just _her_ name, but you get to keep the vintage car you barely drive –hurray!

“Yes, Mr. Burnett. Is there a problem?”

He hemmed and hawed a little. “Actually, er, yes there is.”

I frowned, my mind suddenly clear and lucid. “What is it?”

“Er, um…”

I closed my eyes for a moment, willing myself to be patient. It figured, that _I_ had to get the most dithery lawyer in all of London. “What’s the problem, Mr. Burnett?”

“You see, um, there’s still –I’m sure it’s not her fault, Mrs. Williams, I mean-”

“What’s happened?”

“She, er, she hasn’t signed a form. One of them. Of course, she may have missed it in the stack.”

I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. Looks like I was still married. Whoop-de-do.

“It _was_ a pretty big stack,” I agreed.

“Yes, well –uh…” His voice trailed away.

I sighed. “I don’t blame you, Mr. Burnett, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh –yes, well, thank you. Very kind of you, I’m sure. The issue _now_ , of course, is, well, how to get Mrs. Williams to sign it.”

I frowned. “How is that an issue? Just forward it to her lawyer.”

“Yes, that is what I intended to do, yes. But then her lawyer tells me that she has broken all contact with him. That is, er, not answering his calls, and such.”

I wasn’t surprised. It would be like her to leave behind anyone or anything once they had served their purpose, especially when it was something… unsavoury. Speaking of unsavoury, I suddenly realised why Mr. Burnett was calling me about this. Sure enough, after a lot more dithering, it was decided that I would go visit my fair wife myself, get her to sign the form, and then drop it off at Burnett’s office. _Fantastic_.

It had been some time since I had dressed myself with such care. Well-coordinated shirt, pants and jacket, matching socks, clean shoes, gelled hair. I realised what I was doing was silly in the extreme, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want her to get a single chance to mock me, as I knew she would, surrounded and supported by her plastic posse.

Finding out where she was meant I had to call Vanessa, her agent. I tried the landline of my old home once for good measure, then dialled the number of the woman I hated most in the universe next to Madame Kovarian.

“Vanessa Guthrie-Adams.”

“It’s Rory Williams.”

“Mr. Williams!” Her gushing, nasal voice always made me nauseated. Today was no exception.

“How can I help you?”

“I need to know where –my ex-wife is.”

“Might I ask why?” There it was. The sudden, shark-like snappy tone. Crisp, business-like and unemotional. It was worse than her gushing.

“It’s personal.”

“I’d really like to know, Mr. Williams. You see, Amelia is my client. I must respect her working schedule and try and keep away any distractions from her, not lead them to her.” A pause. “No offence.”

“I’m not some desperate loony trying to cause trouble,” I snapped. “It’s some technicality regarding our divorce. I have papers she needs to sign. Of course, I understand Amy’s professionalism very well –maybe I could just leave these papers with you and you could forward them to her?”

I knew what her answer would be. Vanessa Guthrie-Adams never went out of her way to do anything for anyone, unless there was some kind of profit to be gained from it. And she got nothing from being a courier to Amy.

“I have the address right here, Mr. Williams. If you could just write it down…”

The address belonged to a rather large Georgian house in beautiful condition, a popular place often let for shooting films and period TV programmes, other than magazine shoots. As I approached the front door, I knew my mood was going to get worse over the day.

Stick-thin models littered the doorsteps, their high, affected voices shrill in the cold air. All of them observed me unabashedly as I approached them. I tried not to wince under the predatory glance of more than one young woman.

“What’re _you_ here for, love?” –One of the girls asked me, smirking flirtatiously. “ _Bazaar_ ’s got the first floor. I can take you there, or higher if you like.” She winked.

I was saved an answer when I noticed Mattie, Amy’s ‘best mate’, leaning against the doorjamb, smoking. “Hey, Mattie.”

She looked at me through bleary eyes. “Who’s that, then?”

“It’s Rory Williams.” She mouthed my name once before her memory seemed to jog. “Oh right, _Rory_ –you’re Amy’s Rory, aren’t you?”

A sudden lump formed in my throat, surprising me. I hadn’t cried in… in months. What was the occasion now? I forced the lump back down, and fought down every errant emotional thought in my head –not an easy thing to do, but something I was taught to do as a Roman legionary. It helped, sometimes, to be two thousand years old.

“Not anymore,” I said flatly. “Where can I find her?”

“She’s on the _Bijoux_ shoot –second floor. Ask for Andy, everybody here knows him.”

Of course. Everyone’s chum, Andy. _Swell_.

By the time I reached the second floor, huffing and puffing from the stairs, because some chatty girls were holding up the lift on the first floor, my temper was beginning to show. I fairly snapped at the nervous kid who looked like he was just out of school. He wasn’t inclined to let me in at first, but then, rather reluctantly, he let me wait in the make-up room.

I didn’t have to wait long, though. I was barely in the room for two minutes, avoiding my stern reflection glaring down at me from all the mirrors, before she turned up. I glanced at her, my heart inexplicably skipping a beat, my palms sweating.

She hadn’t changed much. Her hair was longer, her eyes tired, poufy even, like she hadn’t had enough sleep. I _hoped_ that was the reason, then wondered why I cared anymore. But on the whole, she looked as breathtakingly beautiful as she always had. As she forever would.

Suddenly I was angry again. She had no business looking this beautiful –it was too _cruel_. A sharp shard of _something_ seemed to drive into my chest every time she spoke.

I couldn’t take it. I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. I didn’t want to see her again. I couldn’t _bear_ seeing her again.

I kept my answers to her questions short, curt. I didn’t stop when she called me. I couldn’t. If I had… I was running by the time I emerged from the building into the street. Roman military training –bah! Clearly, they never had to reckon with a woman like Amy Pond. I froze for a moment, appalled at how easily I was slipping into ‘revere-Amy-mode’ again. No. _No_. I had to get over this, get over her.

I knew then, that I could never see Amy again. Not if I wanted to preserve what little sanity I had remaining.

Little did I know the universe had other plans for me, and chose to carry out these plans through the Daleks –the _Daleks_ , of all the creatures in the universe!

My last thought, as the Dalek-bus driver hybrid shot me, was that the Doctor sure knew to pick his moments.


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, that was some angsty drama to get through! So here you go, here's a nice, fluffy epilogue to cheer you up...

He watched them waving at him on the screen, not moving his eyes away until they were fully replaced by the swirling energies of the time vortex. Only then did he look away with a sigh. They were fine, they were happy again. But how close had they come to making themselves unhappy forever? He shook his head. Silly, frustratingly complex humans! Throwing away the best thing, the brightest and most beautiful thing in the universe over some misunderstanding…

He had been angry. Incredibly angry at how foolish they could be over such trifles. But there had been pain, real pain in his Amelia’s eyes. Pain ringed with stiff waves of hostility. Had he plainly shown how angry he was, she’d have shut him out. And he hadn’t wanted that, had he?

But the anger hadn’t really gone, oh no. He’d seen that they hadn’t stopped loving each other –not by far. He’d seen Amy’s worried expression as they searched for her husband on the snowy surface of the planet. He’d seen Rory’s face spasm with panic as he’d carried his wife over to him, across the hall of destroyed Daleks. Such _fools_ the two of them were –the anger was still there –being so ridiculously obstinate and foolish and crazy and dooming themselves to such unimaginable _pain_. What if he hadn’t had a golden opportunity like the one offered to him by Rory’s innate chivalry and his own immunity to the Dalek nanobots? Well, he’d probably have thought of something else, but the point remained.

He sighed deeply and pulled one final lever on the console; he felt the Tardis shudder excitedly as she landed. A small smile appeared on his face. He was excited, too, of course. That went without saying.

The Tardis had barely landed when the doors opened with a flourish and a certain someone with a familiar halo of golden hair bounded in.

“ _Finally_ ,” drawled River Song with her irresistible smirk. “I was getting afraid I had to somehow make plans of my own for the night.”

The Doctor grinned, flipped his fringe of hair off his forehead, and sauntered over to her. “Well, now, we couldn’t have that, could we?”

“No, we couldn’t,” she agreed, her mane of curls quivering around her face and leaned in slowly. “So. Where are we right now?”

He smirked. “Well, right now, _I’ve_ just come from an asylum and -”

“The Dalek Asylum?” River had suddenly stiffened and she had her serious face on.

“Yes.” He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

She blinked twice. “Nothing. In fact-” Taking him by surprise, in long-standing tradition, River’s hand was suddenly on the back of his neck, her lips pressed onto his. Going by kisses, this one was one of the more intense ones, the _really_ intense ones.

When she let him go he was even a little breathless, despite his respiratory bypass system. “River, w-what-”

“Thank you,” River whispered. “You have _no_ idea how close it was –you saved their lives.”

“I _always_ save their lives.”

“You know what I mean.” She pressed another, much softer kiss on his lips. “You wonderful, magnificent man.”

He grinned. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

She tweaked his nose playfully. “Well, I’ve had a very long, icky day in prison. I am in desperate need of a shower.” She eyed his grimy face and dirty jacket, her eyebrow raised suggestively.

He caught on instantly. “Ah, right, yes. So do I, I think?” A question, in case he had misinterpreted her look.

He hadn’t, as usual. “Yes you do, sweetie,” she smiled fondly. “I think the ensuite in the Oak Room today? I’m _dying_ to try the wood-sounded bath…” She sashayed away up the stairs.

Grinning, the Doctor untied his bowtie and followed his wife. These were the days he lived for. The days when everybody lived.

And the days when everyone stayed married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Alright, on ff.net I dedicated a whole chapter for explanations on why I wrote what I did, but I'll just go ahead and add some short notes here, no need to waste a whole chapter on my mental ramblings! 
> 
> First of all, I know, I realize, that the reason the Ponds broke up is because Amy can't have kids anymore. But Rory's reaction in the episode is quite telling: when Amy says "I can't have kids!" Rory looks stunned and says, "I-I know."   
> The way I saw it, his reply seemed to imply two things to me:  
> 1\. That Rory knew that Amy couldn't have kids - and AMY KNEW that he knew.  
> 2\. That Rory wasn't expecting that to be the reason for their break.  
> Which got me thinking -what was the apparent reason for their divorce?
> 
> It could have been anything, really. I just happened to pick up on Rory's anger from Amy's modelling studio in the episode -as a side note, angry Rory really, REALLY freaked me out there. *shudders*  
> Anyhow, so I made Amy's modelling career the ostentatious reason for their spats. Amy has obviously modelled before, witness the Petrichor ad in the previous reason. And we all know how jealous, mistrustful and possessive Rory can be when it comes to Amy. And voilà! A plot was born. (Also, it worked beautifully to reconcile the "You kicked me out!"/"I gave you up!" dilemma)
> 
> Second of all, the POV switch in each chapter was intentional. I was kinda hoping to get across the point that it was neither of their faults, and, conversely, BOTH their faults. Rory, as mentioned before, was too closed up, too discouraging and possessive. Amy, as much as she said she did, didn't try and accommodate his insecurity enough. Most importantly, both of them were fools, as the Doctor would say, for not communicating about the main reason they began to drift apart, the core reason Amy spits out in the episode -that they can't have any more kids.
> 
> Also, I suppose it needs to be added: yes, they already have a daughter, River Song. But that's what she is. She isn't their baby or their kid, she's their daughter. As much as they love her, they didn't get to raise her as their own, not properly(they grew up with her, and that's hardly the same, I would think). So yes, this news about Amy not being able to have any more kids is rather devastating.
> 
> Aaand, that's it! Thank you again for taking the time to read this, and I hope you guys liked it! :)
> 
> ~E


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